Ophelia's Dream
by Manita
Summary: Alone and pregnant, Hisana searches for the father of her child.


Hisana cannot believe her luck. He's so beautiful, gentle, kind. All those things every girl wishes her danna would be, even when they always seem to turn out old and demanding with smelly breath and grabby hands.

Not so, her winter warrior. She remembers standing in line, hoping against hope that she might be the one he chose, the thunder in her throat when he stopped in front of her and ever-so politely, asked her name.

She'd stuttered an answer, too nervous to do otherwise and then blushed at the horror of it. How shameful, to appear so unpolished, so inadequate before such a man. In her embarrassment, she'd dropped at his feet, begging forgiveness, thinking the slim chance she might have had, gone. But instead of being disgusted, he'd laughed, knelt beside her, and told her she was so very charming.

Surprised, she'd looked up into a smile as warm as the sun, and fallen in love.

After that, there'd been no one for her, but him.

The other girls are jealous, whispering about her behind her back and Hisana doesn't care one whit. Not while she has this.

Leaning down, she carefully drops a kiss on one elegantly arched brow. Fuyu twitches and stirs, already smiling as he wakens and his eyes blink open to look at her. Their colour is similar to her own, a kind of purple blue. But where hers are cold, Fuyu's seem to glow from within with so much heat that a single glance melts Hisana to her core.

She hides her answering smile behind a raised hand. It's unseemly to display such emotion, or so Mama Kiyoki tells her, but her heart quickens as he sits up, propping himself on one elbow, and reaches out to cup her cheek.

His hand is calloused, as a warrior's should be, but his touch is kind. "You're so beautiful," he says, "like the spring blossoms. Your lips, such a perfect pink." His thumb drags across them smudging the little paint that remains, before he tugs her down into a kiss.

"Hisana, my gentle dove, I could lose myself in you forever," he whispers, covering her with his body and sliding between her legs. "Tell me you'll always be here when I need you."

"Forever, my lord," she replies, and as they embrace, Hisana cards her fingers through his silken black hair and thinks again, 'I am so lucky. What did I ever do to deserve a love such as this.'

* * *

Flowers are in full bloom and it has been three months since she last bled. Hisana might be young but she isn't stupid. Hands shaking, she knocks on Mama Kiyoki's door. A chance, that's all she needs.

"Hisana, good," Mama says, glancing up as Hisana enters and kneels before her. The old woman's face is all angles and shadows, her make-up doing nothing to soften it. "I was about to send for you," she continues, "There is to be no renewal of your contract. As of tonight you will join the rest of the girls in the main room."

Hisana's heart leaps into her throat. "I'm sorry, what?" she says, because this can't be true. Her winter warrior was here only last week. The pink-jewelled flowers that she wears in her hair this very moment are proof of his affections, given to her alongside sweet kisses and promises to return.

Mama Kiyoki puts down her writing brush. "Did you not hear me, child?"

"Why was it cancelled?" Hisana asks, hand rushing to her belly. Could one of the others have told someone? She hardly knows for certain herself, but they all live so close it's just possible someone could have noticed before her.

"No doubt your shinigami found someone younger and prettier. It happens," Mama says, "Either way, it doesn't concern you. All you need to know is that you're no longer reserved, and I certainly can't afford to keep you without a sponsor, so you'll earn your keep like the others; downstairs."

She cannot. And not for some prudish reason.

"I'm carrying his child!" The words spurt from her like heart's-blood, pattering down between them in a pattern now set in stone.

They are greeted with a silence so profound that, were it not for the sound of her own breathing, Hisana would think herself struck deaf. She exists a thousand lifetimes waiting for an answer.

"I see," Mama Kiyoki says finally. A rustle of silks comes from the other side of the writing desk. "How long has it been?"

Gaze locked on the floor, Hisana can only clutch her shaking hands in her lap as she sees slippered feet edge into her line of sight. "Three months," she whispers. By rights, she should have said something last month, but there had been the festival and in all the excitement, she'd forgotten to worry.

Mama makes an annoyed sound. "Early enough still. I'll acquire the medicines in the morning."

"No!" Good manners forgotten in her panic, Hisana lunges for the old woman's kimono as she moves away, snatching a handful of the silks between her fingers. "Please, let me tell him first. He would want to know, I'm sure he would."

Mama Kiyoki looks down at her with kindly disdain. "If he cared that much, child, he wouldn't have terminated the contract. Now go to your room and get ready. I'll be generous and give you a week's rest afterwards. Never let it be said I don't care for my girls."

Hisana flees. If Mama is pointing out how generous she's being, the threat is deadly serious.

Back in the sleeping room, Hisana doesn't waste a moment. She must work tonight, there'll be no avoiding that, but afterwards she'll be ready.

Carefully she gathers together all the gifts he's given her and wraps them, along with the few kan that are hers and hers alone, in a cloth. She tucks it in the corner of the bathing room to collect later, then repaints her face and goes downstairs.

All evening, she watches. The men come and go. She serves tea and sake, dishes of sweet nuts and spiced beans, flirting and flattering when the men paw at her. It is only for one night, she tells herself, after this it will be over and she will be with her love again.

Eventually she spots the man she wants; a red-faced tradesman with a fat coin purse. He's too drunk to stand upright alone, so she slides under his arm and whispers suggestions in his ear. A moment later he's reeling up out of his seat, carolling his intentions in a high quavering voice that slurs from too much sake. His friends laugh and slap him on the back, sending him off with crude suggestions and lewder looks.

Hisana escorts him to the backrooms, closing the door behind her with a surge of irrational hope. She can do this. Her winter warrior would never have forsaken her by choice, thus he must have been forced to do so. When he sees her face, her swelling belly, he'll change his mind, she knows he will.

But, before she leaves to find him, there is one thing she must have.

Leaving the tradesman snoring on the mat, she slips down the backstairs to Mama's office. The steward is inside, as he is every night that Mama walks the floor, and Hisana smiles at him with a flirtatious air.

The sake she offers is sweet and rich, and liberally dosed with the same sleeping draught she gave the tradesman. Within moments the steward's head is resting on the writing desk, his snores making the wood vibrate.

Hisana tugs the ring of keys from his belt and, with trembling fingers, sorts through them for the one to the locked part of the great tansu. The cupboard stands against the wall, beautifully inlaid with ebony and rosewood, and when she slides the key into the lock, it opens soundlessly. Inside there is money and papers. Hisana pushes aside heavy bags of coin in favour of the document she needs. Her contract. On it will be Fuyu's real name, the one she's never been permitted to know. Armed with that, she may be able to find the father of her child.

Mama's chicken scratch and Hisana's own inexperience conspire to slow her progress to a crawl. By the time she finally sees her own name printed on the top of the page, there is cold sweat between her shoulder blades and she is jumping at every sound.

Nervously, she spreads the page flat on the desk, studying the words with painstaking care. She recognises the kanji for money and the one for woman and the ones for agreement. Yes, she thinks, with a surge of joy. This is what she's looking for.

At the bottom of the page is a seal that seems to be some kind of stylised flower. With an inexpert hand, she copies the complex shape as well as she's able onto a scrap of paper and then puzzles out which of the kanji beside it might be his name. There's so many and the meaning is very unclear. Finally in desperation, she copies down the ten most likely, tucks the paper into her obi and carefully replaces the original back in the drawer.

Within the hour, she is gone, vanishing into the back-streets of district two south like the ghost she is.

* * *

It isn't hard to pass between districts if you have a reason to do so, but when Hisana was traded up-district, on the strength of her looks and youth, she'd been waved through as part of a legitimate caravan. This time, she has to manage it alone.

She finds a spot to hide close to the river, and for an entire day watches the check point and the traders who pass through it heading for Shōhaku, district one south. As she'd hoped, the shinigami guards manning the crossing are careless, spending more time chatting and taking bribes than inspecting paperwork and containers.

Still, Hisana hesitates. It's a huge risk to take. If she's caught, she could be sent back, not to Mama Kiyoki, though that would be bad enough, but to Inuzuri, the district she was allocated to when she first arrived. Having escaped once, she doesn't want to risk getting trapped there again.

On the other hand, her lover is just the other side of the border, in Seireitei. If she can make it that far, she will find him, she has to. Because nothing can stand between them, not when they love each other so very much.

In the end, it's an easy decision. When the streets leading to the checkpoint are bustling with traffic, she makes her move. Slipping through the shadows, she swipes a travelling cloak from outside a privy, and wrapped in that, with her bag of belongings clutched to her chest, she wanders up alongside a caravan that's already starting to move.

Head down, Hisana walks alongside it, matching her stride to the others and doing her best to keep the waggons between her and the guards.

Despite her thundering pulse, she needn't have worried. None of the shinigami even look her way, and when she reaches the other side, she disappears into the crowds. Now she's in Shōhaku, she needs to reinvent herself, but first she needs information.

* * *

The little stall is on a back street, about as far from Seireitei as it's possible to get and still be in the first district. Hisana hesitates outside, examining the price list and comparing it to the handful of kan she has left from selling the flowers Fuyu gave her.

Once she's sure she has enough for all the words, she ducks inside. The place is dingy and smells of ink and paper. Sitting behind the desk is an old man with a bald freckled head.

"I need you to read this for me," Hisana says, thrusting her carefully copied kanji at him.

The scribe holds out his hand and takes the paper, not even glancing up at her. "Like it says outside, fifty kan a word," he intones, spreading the sheet out on the desk in front of him. "Reading, writing, makes no difference-"

Sharp eyes suddenly flick up, raking Hisana from head to toe. She stands straight, hands clasped in front of her. With her hair newly trimmed and her respectable married-woman's clothing, he has no reason to suspect her of anything untoward.

"You know what this is?" he asks, jabbing a finger at the roughly drawn seal.

Hisana's heart leaps. This is the first scribe she's tried, and to have him recognise the seal is more than she'd dared hope for.

"No, sir," she says, with a little bobbing bow. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"This alone," he says, sweeping his hand across the kanji, "is gibberish. Badly written. Impossible to decipher. If I had the original, then maybe... But this," again his finger taps at the seal, "this changes things."

His eyes narrow and Hisana notices that one of them is blind, cut through with a deep scar. "You know the Kuchiki?" he snaps.

Hisana shakes her head, even as her belly contracts. The way he says the name tells her they are very important. Is Fuyu really a high ranking noble like she always thought he might be?

His ink-blotched finger moves across the page and lands up next to one of the kanji. "This here and this one next to it, they say Kuchiki too, so I'm thinking that whatever this is from, girl, it's got something to do with them."

He sits up and refolds the page. "That's it. There's nothing else on there that'll help you."

When he holds out the paper, Hisana goes to take it with both hands. Except the old man doesn't let go. Instead he hangs on to the sheet and gives Hisana another considering look. She shifts slightly under his penetrating gaze, wondering why she feels like he can see right inside her.

Finally he nods slightly and lets go of the paper, saying, "We'll call it one fifty."

Hisana tucks the refolded sheet into the front of her yukata, and carefully counts out the coins. The old man takes them and tosses them carelessly into a drawer that rattles when he pushes it closed.

She's halfway to the door when he speaks again.

"A word of advice, little lady. Whatever you think they owe you, forget about it. Take yourself back wherever you came from, find someone nice and settle down, give that babe of yours a home. The Kuchiki aren't for the likes of us."

Then he bent his head over another piece of paper and began to write, Hisana apparently already dismissed from his thoughts.

* * *

The scribe's words linger in Hisana's mind for the next few weeks. She finds work as an assistant to a seamstress; running errands and cleaning up. It doesn't pay much, but sleeping in the shop keeps her overheads down.

As she sweeps, she ponders who Fuyu might be. In her dreams, he's always a noble warrior prince who would one day run away with her to his palace and make her his lady.

But that had only been a dream. Discovering that it might be true gives her a strange squirmy feeling inside.

The brush drops as she presses a shocked hand to her belly.

No, that wasn't nerves, that was the child, moving.

It does so again, a tiny flutter against her palm. Hisana's other hand flies to her mouth but she cannot stop the sob of terror and joy that escapes around her fingers.

"Are you all right?" Nuimi, the seamstress asks. Her long dark hair falls in a neat braid over her shoulder and her eyeglasses perch on the tip of her nose.

"Yes," Hisana answers breathlessly, still just sitting there.

"Is it the baby?"

Hisana raises dazed eyes to her employer. "It moved," she breathes.

"Really!" The woman's excitement is palpable, her hand shaking as she reaches out. "May I?" Like most women in Soul Society, Nuimi has never born a child of her own, though she's taken several in to train.

Hisana nods, sitting still as her employer leans forwards and presses a hand gently to her swollen belly. This time there is nothing from the child, but Hisana's gut rumbles, making both women laugh.

That's the strangest thing that's come with the advancing pregnancy. For the first time since she can remember, Hisana is actually hungry for food. Not just for the taste of it, but the substance.

Fortunately, unlike in Inuzuri or Mama Kiyoki's, food is relatively easy to come by in district one, if expensive. Selling the fan Fuyu gave her on their first anniversary has given her a small fund to draw on, and so she doesn't even have to worry about price too much.

That evening, she buys rice and curry, eating it so fast she has to sit down afterwards to let herself digest. Even so, she also ends up buying several early plums, intending them for breakfast, only to eat them on the way home.

The following morning, she's woken by a thunderous knocking on the door. Still feeling bloated and sick, Hisana staggers to the door and pulls it back to find a young man in very smart clothes on the doorstep.

"Tell your mistress," he says importantly, "that the Lady Dōzen's fitting is moved up to this morning, thus she is expected at the manor by nine."

Since it's now five, and Hisana knows for a fact that there is at least one garment yet to complete, she wastes no time in rousing Nuimi from bed.

Two hours later, they still haven't finished and Nuimi is beside herself. "You will have to come with me," she says, her needle flying through bright pink silk painted with deep purple irises.

Hisana's hands freeze on the kimono she's folding. "Into Seireitei, ma'am?"

"Of course. Now hurry up and get the rest of this packed or the Lady will have our skins."

* * *

This is the first time she's approached Seireitei, and it's the strangest thing to see because she feels there should be walls, or something more physical than an empty stretch of dirt, separating the Court of Pure Souls from district one.

There isn't. The real distinction lies in the absolute change of style. Even in the richest parts of Shōhaku, the houses are plain timber and the roads unpaved mud.

In Seireitei, there is white plastered stone everywhere, and almost every roof is finished with red clay slate. The roads are broad and paved with snug fitting slabs that feel better than sun-baked earth beneath her feet, and between the buildings lay parks, with tall stands of late flowering trees and grass that still looks soft enough to sleep on.

It is quite the most beautiful place Hisana has ever seen, and she walks behind Nuimi gawping like a child at every new sight.

"Hurry," Nuimi says, as they set off up a hill. At the top are a set of tall gates with guards in uniform standing to either side. Hisana looks at each of them carefully in case they look at all familiar, but they don't.

Round the corner is a much smaller gate with a single guard. Nuimi stops and gives her name and reason for calling, and fairly soon, she and Hisana are hurrying up a narrow winding path that grants brief glimpses of a truly magnificent garden.

A moment later and they're being urged inside a house. And what a house. Hisana always thought Mama Kiyoki's was big, but this is huge by comparison. There was even a garden right in the middle.

The room they're led to holds a handful of gentlewomen, all seated decorously doing noble things like reading and drawing. The oldest looking of them turns out to be Lady Dōzen, a hard-faced woman who's losing her battle with greying hair.

As Nuimi works, Hisana keeps her head down and follows orders, unfolding and folding garments and helping Nuimi with the final adjustments. And all the time, she listens to the noble women talk.

Most of it is beyond her ability to understand. They use terms she doesn't know and mention people she's never heard of, but then suddenly she hears a name and her ears home in on the conversation.

The speaker is one of the noblewomen, only distinguishable from the rest by the deep green and white of her kimono, a choice of colours far more suited to pale winter days than the richness of autumn.

She's holding court, the ladies around her hanging on her every word. "Poor Chimei had to be carried back to the mansion. He had a lump on his head the size of a goose egg for week." She leans forward, voice lowering as though confessing some great secret. "I told her, then and there, the boy is a menace. I don't care if he's upset, he's a Kuchiki and must learn to curb his temper."

Lady Dōzen cuts in at that point, her chest vibrating under Hisana's hands as she says, "His father was always too soft. Lord Kuchiki will soon bring him to heel."

"I wonder if he'll take after his father?" One of the other ladies says. "That one might have been soft, but he was fine looking man. Such a terrible waste."

The conversation then spins away into the comparative beauty of the eligible young men of Seireitei. Hisana continues to work as she picks apart what she's heard.

There has been a death in the clan, that much is obvious, and she tells herself that it cannot be him. If he were dead, she would know. She would feel it in her heart because they are connected at the level of their souls, and with such a bond knowing would be inevitable.

But the death of an important man might explain Fuyu's absence in other ways. Perhaps he has earned a promotion. Or - her heart sinks - been given a new wife.

Soon their work is done. Hisana trails after Nuimi, her burdens infinitely lighter then when they arrived, but her heart much heavier. As they step out of the front gates, Nuimi stops, looks up at the eggshell blue sky and says, "You know, the work pass lasts for a whole day and they say the food in Seireitei is twice as good as any in Rukongai."

Since she rarely eats herself, Hisana knows Nuimi is simply being kind, and it's a generosity she could never decline. With a respectful bow, she says, "I am happy to do whatever my mistress desires."

Nuimi glances at her with laughing dark eyes. "Ah, always so formal." She reaches out and takes Hisana's hand in her own. "Come, let us show your child the beauty of the world that awaits them."

And so they wander. Hisana is surprised to discover there is more than simply houses and barracks in Seireitei. There are trade districts and areas set aside for recreation and entertainment. On one corner, they get drawn in by a man playing a flute and end up watching a short play that, by the end, has them holding their sides with laughter.

The food is exquisite. There are sweets and delicacies that Hisana has never heard of, let alone eaten, and Nuimi is being far too generous. Claiming her own palate too jaded to really appreciate taste and texture, she feeds more than half of all her treats to Hisana, until finally, Hisana feels she has to say something or she will be in this woman's debt for the rest of her life.

"Please, Nuimi-sama," she says, waving hand in front of her face as yet another confection is offered up, "I am overwhelmed with your kindness, and becoming very tired."

"Ah, then you must rest," Nuimi says, guiding her towards a seat set back from the road and out of the wind. She arranges their bags just so around Hisana's feet and steps back. "Stay here. There is one more thing I want to look at, and then we will go."

She hurries off and Hisana leans back on the bench and contemplates her full stomach. She is lucky, she knows. Beyond lucky. To have found such a wonderful mistress, who seems to find only joy at the baby's upcoming birth. Hisana should be content, and yet that isn't possible, because there is still Fuyu and, ungrateful though it makes her, Hisana cannot rest until she's found her love.

"Coming through! Coming through!" Rough male voices cut through the crowd, which scatters to the edges of the roadway.

Hisana stands up to watch as a procession passes by, full of white garbed priests and guarded by retainers in uniform and black-clad shinigami. The people are carrying offerings; rice, fruit, flowers, drapes of exquisite cloth, lanterns of woven bamboo and folded paper. But it's the burning incense and chanting which alerts her as to purpose. A combination of that and the briefest glimpse of a painting, borne aloft in a sea of flowers, brings her heart to her throat, because the man in picture looks just like Fuyu.

"No." The word is quiet, choked by the desperate fist she has clamped to her collar, pressing against her throat to hold back a flood of tears. It cannot be. He cannot be dead.

She pushes through the crowd, ignoring the irate looks cast her way. The procession is moving steadily away from her and she must fight against the tide, but she stays in its wake, weaving through people more concerned with moving on than stopping to pay their respects.

Finally, the procession turns in through a massive gateway hung with white lanterns. Some of the guards peel away, taking up positions on either side that look both intimidating and permanent. She has reached the end of the line.

No! She cannot allow herself to think in those terms! Did she come all this way just to fall at the first difficult hurdle?

A man stops near the gate and dips his head respectfully. As he moves away, Hisana snags his sleeve. "This place, what is it?" she asks.

The man looks down his nose at her, like she's dirt under his feet. "Too good for the likes of you," he sniffs and shakes her off.

As he strides away, a voice behind her says, "It's the Kuchiki estate. The procession was for the eldest son, Kuchiki Sōjun. He was killed in action three months ago."

The shinigami has a kind face and sympathetic eyes behind his glasses, so even though she is beside herself with grief and fear, Hisana thanks him and bows deeply as he nods and moves on.

She is left staring at a gate and walls that seem determined to drive her into despair. Was the man in the picture Fuyu? Or was he even now somewhere behind those high walls wishing he was free to see her again.

She has to know. She cannot possibly leave Seireitei without finding out.

One of the things Hisana has learnt over the years is that very few men will question a woman with a full basket in her arms. A detour through a secluded courtyard provides one, and Hisana slips through the rear entrance to the Kuchiki estate with nothing but a head dip at the inattentive guard on the gate.

Inside, she dumps her disguise quickly because, true though it is that the basket protects her from curious men, it also leaves her vulnerable to busy women looking for someone to share the chores and she cannot afford to be recognised as an interloper. Instead she takes to the gardens and adopts a noblewoman's air as she wanders languidly between winter trees and ponds full of hungrily mouthing koi.

True, her dress is plain for anyone of rank, but at a distance she may pass, at least until nightfall and that is all she needs.

By the time the sun goes down, she is frozen to the bone and exhausted. She has long since given up walking and is now hidden behind a large plum tree that grows close enough to the main house that its elegantly arched branches brush against red clay tile. It feels like a metaphor for herself and Fuyu, both rooted in such different worlds and yet seeking each other out across the void.

With darkness comes opportunity and she creeps closer to the house with no real idea what she's looking for. When she finds it, it's obvious. There's a hint of incense in the air and despite the chill of the night, the screen door is slightly ajar.

She peers inside and there it is: an altar carved of rosewood and walnut, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and leafed with gold. All around lay offerings; rice, fruit, flowers; and at their centre on a shelf draped with exquisite cloth stands a picture.

Is it him?

She slips off her sandals and steps warily inside. The tatami is warm beneath her feet as she treads across the room, her eyes fixed on the picture.

Halfway there, her steps falter and she falls to her knees, one hand pressed to her mouth because she can deny it no longer. That face. That beloved, beautiful face is her winter warrior. The other half of her soul. Fuyu. Kuchiki Sojūn.

Ice creeps into her heart. She feels frozen to the core, her very life force pierced with the coldest, harshest blade. He is gone.

She kneels there for the longest time. May well have knelt there until the sun rose once again, if a youthful voice hadn't said, "Who are you and what are doing by my father's shrine?"

The next moment she finds herself face to face with a younger version of Fuyu, only this one's eyes are the grey of a winter storm. They suit him well, she thinks as the boy is swept away, replaced by a guard who's drawn sword is levelled at her throat.

Hisana tries to care and cannot. Even as she is hauled to her feet and dragged outside under a barrage of questioning demands, she remains unmoved. As dead inside as her love.

They strip her naked and kneel her on the grass, hands tied behind her. She stares at the ground and sees his face, his smile, the kindness in his eyes.

But he is gone and there is nothing left for her here.

"I asked your name, bitch!"

The blow catches her across the face and she falls, tasting blood. She swipes her tongue across it, the coppery flavour along with the pain stirring memories long since buried. When the guard grabs her hair to yank her up, she goes for him, snapping and snarling with all the viciousness she learnt on Inuzuri's streets.

He yelps and drops her, aiming a kick as she crawls away, arms straining to be free because she needs to run, needs to get clear of these men, because she'd forgotten: Fuyu might be dead but his child isn't.

Behind her, she hears the hiss of steel being drawn and crawls faster, knowing the next thing she will feel is the blade's kiss against her bared neck.

It never comes. Instead a rough voice calls, "Okay, take her to the guardhouse. She's gonna be deported in the morning."

* * *

When they finally throw her from the transport barge onto the stinking filth of an Inuzuri riverbank, her belly is large enough to make the rags she wears gape at the sides. Hisana splashes to her feet and spits after them as the boatman poles away, the jeers of her latest round of guards echoing from the deck.

There has been a lot of them between Seireitei and here. More than she can count and many more than she ever wishes to remember, and her whole body aches in ways that are going to make it difficult to forget.

A determined jab up under her ribs reminds her that she is not alone. Despite everything, Fuyu's child is still strong and determined, and Hisana needs to make plans for the next stage of their lives together. She scrambles up the bank and stands there, shivering, searching her memory for landmarks past. Nothing good comes back to her, so she sets her face towards the nearest slum and begins to walk.

By the time she gets there, her stomach is rumbling loudly, empty for hours of anything resembling food. In the past months, she's managed to eat fairly well. One of the few advantages of being in the hands of shinigami is that they always have food and don't have a problem sharing it, especially in exchange for extra 'favours'.

Now though, she will have to do without. Whores in Inuzuri don't get paid enough to eat. No one here has money for that.

No one here has money for anything.

It's all depressingly familiar. Every town in Inuzuri is the same. Crumbling wood shacks bleached grey by sun, wind and rain, held together with misery and fear.

Hisana attracts little attention as she passes. Not because pregnant women are so common, but because no one here has the energy to care. She doesn't look rich, therefore she is of no interest to most of Inuzuri's residents.

The exception are the street children. Loud and boisterous, they throng the waste-ground and alleys, fighting and playing with an energy the adults can only envy.

Hisana gives them a wide berth and keeps walking. It's like she can't stop. Because if she does, then this will be it, this will be her life again.

She's escaped it once. She doesn't think she has the strength to do it over.

By nightfall she's walked through one town and reached the outskirts of the next. This time, exhaustion finally makes her find a place stop. She has no other choice.

* * *

The baby is born a month later, at midnight under a clear sky full stars that sparkle like diamonds. She is tiny and beautiful, and Hisana calls her Rukia because she is the most precious gem of them all.

Despite the hunger and cold, sitting there on the riverbank, holding her new daughter and looking out over a town obscured by a blanket of deep white snow, Hisana cannot bring herself to regret a thing.

"I miss you," she tells the night, imagining that kind smile and those gentle hands. "Thank you for giving her to me."

* * *

The baby won't stop crying. In desperation, Hisana offers her the breast even knowing her milk isn't enough to satisfy. Not anymore. Rukia needs real food and Hisana has none to give her. Worse, she has no way to get any.

A stone smashes into the wall beside her and a drunken male voice bellows, "Shut that damned brat up, ya whore, 'fore I do it me'self."

Hisana flees the alley, heart thundering in her throat. She has reached her limit. The only option left is a huge risk that could lead to both of them dying, but she doesn't know what else to do.

She needs to get out of Inuzuri, but leaving isn't as easy as crossing from the second district to the first. This far out, the guards are more alert. They're paid to be, and since the government's the only local employer who pays an actual wage, they won't turn a blind-eye either. Not without the kind of bribe that's way out of Hisana's reach.

Last time, she was traded up; swapped with someone from a more affluent district. Her new employer handled all the pay-offs and paperwork, and Hisana travelled as part of a trade caravan. This time she's on her own. She has to go another way.

She steals cheap rice wine and feeds a portion to Rukia. Not much, she doesn't want to hurt her, just enough to make her sleep. Then, with her daughter tied to her back, she starts her journey.

The unguarded borderlands between Inuzuri and district 77 are mountainous and desolate. Even though it's late spring, the temperature plummets as she climbs higher, and soon there is snow on the ground once again. Hisana's feet ache, ice and stones cut and bruise, but she dare not stop, even for a few minutes. If she does, she will go to sleep and never wake up again.

Coming down the other side is an exercise in desperation. Rukia has woken and her thin cries carry on the wind, a beacon to anyone or anything hunting for easy prey. In some ways being caught by a shinigami patrol is better than some of the other alternatives. They at least don't kill unless ordered. Hollows and bandits would never be so generous.

"Yer too pretty and skilled to be stuck all the way out here," one of the shinigami tells her as he reties his hakama. "Pity about the kid."

Hisana spits to get rid of the taste of him, picks up Rukia, who for once is quiet, busy gumming on her piece of dried persimmon, and walks away, back over the bridge into Inuzuri.

* * *

The second time she's caught between districts, they are not as generous. She is brought before the district's chief official, who sits behind a desk and hums disapprovingly at papers while Rukia frets in Hisana's arms.

Finally he lifts his grizzled head and scowls at her. "You should give her to her father," he says with a jerk of his chin. "Let the kid have a chance."

"He's dead," Hisana replies flatly, and feels the weight of his regard move on. She is given a formal warning and told that next time she will be executed. There is no chance to argue or complain.

Rukia still cries. In desperation, Hisana feeds her more rice wine. It's the only way she can keep a roof over their heads without alienating her clients, and though the days are bearable, the nights would freeze them both to the bone.

Often, she drinks some of the wine herself. It helps to numb the pain of her memories, and it tastes good. Or at least better than the men.

One morning, she wakes to silence and for the briefest moment feels nothing but relief that it's finally over. Then she scrambles, desperate, to her baby's side and clutches her to her breast, sobs wracking her body as she reassures herself that, yes, Rukia is still breathing. She has not killed her child.

After that, she starts to think. For whatever reason, Rukia's desire for food is not going away like happens with all the other souls in Inuzuri. And Hisana cannot feed her. Nor can she, like the government official suggested, give her back to her father.

But perhaps she can do the next best thing. She can send Rukia into the safekeeping of her father's family.

It takes days to scrounge up the materials, and even then Hisana's memory for details is hazy. But finally she has a scrap of paper with all the important information on it; the Kuchiki seal, the kanji for the Kuchiki name, and two personal names: Rukia and Sōjun, both written in kana.

Blinking back tears, she wraps her daughter in the warmest rags she can find, tucks the note firmly in with her and, under the cover of darkness, abandons her outside the back door of the official's residence. By dawn, Hisana has sold herself into a new contract of service and is leaving Inuzuri for district thirty three.

* * *

The years pass slowly. Men, like the seasons, come and go, and through it all Hisana comforts herself with the knowledge that her daughter is safe in Seireitei, with Fuyu's family. Perhaps not living the perfect life, but better by far than the vicious hopelessness of Inuzuri.

Hisana herself is numb. She hardly thinks, her existence reduced to no more than a series of habits designed to keep herself alive. When clients require it, she laughs and smiles, and phrases designed to flatter and amuse fall from her lips, but she is like cherry blossom caught in the wind, her soul just as insubstantial and ephemeral.

Until he comes.

It would be nice to say that his mere presence brought her straight back to life, but that would be a lie. There is too little of Hisana left to breathe again so easily, and she has seen that face too often in her dreams.

But, little by little, like a bud swelling in the warmth of the spring sunshine, she begins to think again, feel again. Then, one day, she looks at the face of the young man sleeping beside her and smiles.

"You look so much like your father," she says, brushing a lock of dark silk from his cheek.

He stirs, stretching, long and lean. He is so very beautiful, and it is unfair that she should have this twice in her life. "Hmm?" he hums, "Did you say something?"

She wants to ask after Rukia, but of course she's not supposed to know who he is, let alone that he has a half sister, so instead she says, "Only that the sun is up and my lord said he had duty today."

"Damn!" he explodes from the bed in a flurry of limbs and panic.

Laughing silently, Hisana watches him fight with his hakama, twice getting them tangled, before he realises the trick she has played on him.

"You," he snarls, tossing his clothing and crawling towards her across the bed. His expression is predatory, ravenous, and makes Hisana's pulse race in her throat.

She squeaks and pretends to flee, but he's on her in a moment, pinning her with his body and smiling down at her. She smiles back and for the first time in forever feels like maybe, possibly, she can start to breathe.

'_Your father would be so proud of you,'_ she thinks as he stoops to kiss her, his lips soft and warm. '_And if your sister has grown up half as beautiful and kind as you, he would be proud of her too.'_

* * *

"I love you," he says, one spring morning as they wander the grounds of the teahouse. "And I'm going to marry you."

Hisana is too well-trained to stop walking, but her feet slow and she is shocked beyond responding. Because surely this has to be a joke. Even if she isn't supposed to know his real identity, he is still a Kuchiki and she is just a whore. His family would never agree to such a match.

She's about to laugh it off when he continues, "But before we do, I have something to confess. It might change the way you feel about me."

Confess is such a weighty word, and when he averts his face, thin brows drawing down into a worried frown, Hisana's belly contracts with nerves. What could he possibly have to say to her?

"My name, it isn't… what you were told. It's Byakuya, Kuchiki Byakuya." He says it like it's the worst thing in the world and Hisana bites back a little gasp. Does he hate his family so much?

"That isn't such a bad thing, my lord," she says, after a moment when he still hasn't said anymore. She reaches out and pats his arm. "The Kuchiki are a very old and respected family."

He looks up, confusion briefly colouring his stormy eyes. "Of course, why would I… Oh!" An indulgent smile follows. "No, you misunderstand. It's just…"

He stops, turning to face her, and takes both her hands is his. "It's you I'm worried for. Hisana, I love you and want you with me always, but my family will not be kind to you and I do not want you to suffer for my sake."

She would crawl over burning coals for the chance to see her daughter again, even if she must keep their relationship a secret. Marrying a man she is genuinely fond of and putting up with his family seems a very small price to pay.

Dropping to her knees, she bows her head. "My lord," she says, "I am unworthy of such regard. Please, do with me as you will. I am yours to command."

* * *

Seireitei is almost entirely unchanged from the last time she was here. Hisana clings to the edge of the palanquin and watches gardens and barracks and strange exciting people through the legs of the guards.

'_Soon,_' she thinks to herself. '_Soon I will see her. What will she look like? Will she know me?_'

That thought scares her. If the truth of her relationship with his father comes out, Byakuya might send her away. And that is something Hisana cannot even bear to contemplate.

Shouts come from up in front and the whole procession turns in through massive gates towards a darkly familiar house. Hisana's heart leaps into her throat as memories of being dragged from this place and thrown into the greedy grasping hands of the shinigami flood back.

She shivers, and tells herself that this time she is safe. She is the lady Kuchiki and Byakuya-sama stands between her and any terror she can imagine.

* * *

Later that night, sitting in an elegantly appointed living room, having just endured a formal meal with what felt like the entire Kuchiki clan, Hisana reminds herself that if - when - she sees Rukia, the stares and comments and pointed silence will all be worth it.

Byakuya is sitting across from her, resplendent in his formal clothes, staring morosely into a bowl of tea. He is different here, in this house and amongst these people. Less approachable, more serious. Not as happy, Hisana suspects, as during the days they spent together.

But that is to be expected. A man such as her husband has duties and cannot live purely in the moment like an oiran.

Still, the change in character is enough to make her nervous, and she has to fight the urge to chew her lip before finally broaching the subject that is so very close to her heart. "It was nice to meet my lord's family this evening, though I did expect your sister to be there. Is she perhaps away from home?" In the wake of the question, Hisana holds her breath, waiting for an answer.

Byakuya raises his head and frowns at her. "Sister?" he says. "I have no sister."

Hisana's breath catches. But she does not panic. Rukia was after all base born, and these are high nobles. It is possible they do not regard her as a full Kuchiki. "Your father's daughter," she explains. "I heard she was some years younger than yourself and born to a commoner?"

"Then you heard wrong. There is no such person," Byakuya says, placing his tea bowl on the table and rising to his feet as though he hasn't just destroyed Hisana's entire world. He nods distractedly. "Apologies, my lady, there are clan matters I must attend to. I will return later."

But as the door closes behind him, all Hisana can hear is screaming: Rukia's name, her own voice. In deep and utter despair.

* * *

Rukia isn't here. Hisana has looked. Everywhere. She's questioned the servants, from the maids to the gardening staff, spoken to all the guards including some who've retired. She's even tentatively broached the subject with family members, and the answer is always _exactly_ the same. Kuchiki Byakuya is an only child. There are, and never have been, any others.

After a month of worry and asking and finally digging into family records, Hisana is left with only one possible conclusion. Rukia never made it to Seireitei.

That night she sits out under the stars, silently begging her daughter for forgiveness.

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Hisana freezes in the doorway, wet cloak dripping onto the mat.

Byakuya is sitting beside her writing desk, obviously waiting for her. He keeps his head lowered as he speaks and he is still wearing his uniform. Has he come straight from work?

"Do not make me repeat myself," he says, finally looking up. An agonised expression flits across his face and he rises quickly. "You are soaked," he says, voice now as gentle and caring as it ever was. "Here, take off your wet things. Why didn't you call a servant?"

'Because they would have told you,' Hisana thinks as she strips off the cloak and the drenched yukata she wears underneath. That alone scandalises the servants. A plain cotton yukata for the lady Kuchiki!

But what else can she wear while searching for Rukia. Rich silks and jewels will simply be a handicap on the streets she haunts.

Soon she is warm and dry, snuggled up beside Byakuya next to the fire pit he's ordered lit. Despite his obvious worry, he's not pressed her for an answer to his question, but he will, and Hisana has no idea how to reply.

She cannot tell him about his sister. Her shame is so vast that just the thought of trying makes her throat seize and her hands shake.

What kind of mother is she, what kind of woman, to abandon her child in such a careless way. If she had any sort of heart, she would have tried to find her before this. Checked somehow that her note had been understood and that Rukia had been brought to Seireitei.

For long minutes they sit in silence, until Byakuya sighs into her hair. "They are saying you have lovers. That you go into Rukongai to see them."

"Never, my lord," Hisana replies, voice tremulous.

He relaxes and his arm tightens around her. "Thank you," he says. "Though even if it were true, it wouldn't matter."

She pulls back a little, to better see his face. His eyes are closed and he looks at peace as he continues, "Sitting, waiting for you this evening, I realised something." Ice grey eyes flicker open and his chin drops so their gazes meet. "Hisana, I wouldn't care if you cuckolded me ten thousand times, so long as you always returned to me afterwards."

Tears blind her. Hisana falls forwards onto his chest, burrowing deeper as his hands get lost in her hair. He is not his father. She can never love him like he loves her, but she could never hurt him either. Thus she will keep her secret rather than let him discover how unworthy the object of his love really is.

"I'm sorry I cannot tell you where I go, but I will always come home to you, my lord. I promise."

* * *

The fever strikes unexpectedly. She's in district seventy three south, following up on a lead about a shinigami's child, and is caught in a snow storm. She manages to find an inn and the innkeeper gives her a bed for the night. She spends it listening to the man's daughter coughing in the next room, and by morning her chest aches and her breath is laboured.

Foolishly, she puts off returning. Byakuya will not expect her yet. They have an agreement. She returns once a week and spends time with him before leaving again to walk the streets of town after town, in district after district.

The innkeeper does his best, but he also has his daughter to care for and a business to run. Hisana lays in bed for days fighting for every breath and by the time the innkeeper thinks to summon a healer, the damage is already done.

Back at the estate, Byakuya fusses, but he never once tells her not to go. Seeing the worry on his face, she is tempted so many times to confess, but she cannot. It's selfish, but she cannot bear to see the love in his eyes die when she tells him who she is and what she has done. So she keeps her own counsel, refuses his subtle offers of help, and keeps searching.

She tells herself that, when she finds Rukia, then she'll explain everything.

* * *

He looks so scared. At night, when he thinks she's sleeping, he cries. The guilt of it eats at her. If she had refused him five years ago, he would have moved on, found another more worthy woman to love. Instead he is trapped here with a dying wife when he's not much more than a child himself.

What has she done? How many lives has she ruined? Is any other woman more deserving of death than her?

But there is something she must do before she goes. A burden she must pass on. Not for her, but for- "Rukia."

The name falls from her lips and Byakuya comes alert at the sound of her voice. "Do you need something?" he asks, rubbing her hand between both of his as though to transfer his life to her. It is impossible. The chill in her limbs is that of the grave.

She doesn't so much make a decision as start to speak. "My sister. We were sent together. To Inuzuri." It is a lie, but such a small one in the greater scheme of things that it fades in comparison. And really, why tell the truth when the only one left to feel the pain is him.

Elegant brows pull down. "You have a sister?"

"A baby. I-I couldn't look after her. Had to aban- abandon-" She manages that much before wracking coughs seize her body. In the aftermath, all she can do is drowse, half-asleep, half-awake, and watch her husband tear himself apart in her unworthy memory.

"Find her," she says when she next has the strength, though it is a tenuous thing packed with wings fluttering in her chest and strange sensations in her limbs. Truth and lies blur together in her mind. "Your sister. Find her for me. Protect her. Promise me."

"Of course, anything." There are tears in his eyes and he must know that there is no hope for her. Yet still he pleads. "Hisana, please, rest. Don't strain yourself."

"Promise-" she gasps, and her fingers hardly make an impression on the skin of his hand.

"I swear. On my honour. My name. I will find her and she will be as my own sister."

It is enough. She has what she needs, and the knowledge loosens her chest and her tongue.

"I'm sorry for being such a burden," she whispers as he leans over her, his tears falling on the pillow like rain. "For not returning your precious love the way it deserved. The five years I've spent with you have been like a dream. Thank you. Byakuya-sama. Thank you."

Thank you for finding my little girl.

_fine_


End file.
